


Kinktober/Kinkvember

by dango96



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bondage, Consensual Somnophilia, Exhibitionism, F/M, Hand Jobs, Kinktober, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Multi, Sauna, Semi-Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Size Difference, Somnophilia, Sub Hubert von Vestra, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dango96/pseuds/dango96
Summary: A series of fics based around various pairings and kinks.Chapter 1: threesome/hand jobs, Byleth/Hubert/Lorenz.Chapter 2: lingerie, Dedue/Sylvain.Chapter 3: exhibitionism (mild), Raphael/Lorenz.Chapter 4: (consensual) somnophilia, Hubert/Byleth.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Hubert von Vestra, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Hubert von Vestra/My Unit | Byleth, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Raphael Kirsten, My Unit | Byleth/Hubert von Vestra, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	1. Byleth/Hubert/Lorenz - threesome

**Author's Note:**

> I certainly don't expect to have one done per day, but I saw a kinktober list I liked. Better late than never, right? I'm hoping to keep these a little shorter compared to my usual fics and briefly explore kinks and character dynamics.
> 
> You can find the list here:  
> https://twitter.com/ellobean/status/1311394011114954757
> 
> First chapter is Byleth/Hubert/Lorenz. Prompts used are threesome/hand jobs, with a side of sensory deprivation and dom/sub undertones.

"You must admit it's rather strange, seeing the Minister of the Imperial Household like... this."

Hubert's adam's apple bobs in his throat as he lies helpless against the mattress, arms tied behind his back. The leather blindfold across his eyes renders him unable to see the other two individuals in the room, the gag keeping him quiet in turn.

Byleth has had him laid like this for what feels like hours, and he's touch starved — no, _sensory_ starved, squirming against the sheets just to feel something. But there is hardly anything there, and little to parse from his remaining senses. A slight chill in the air, two voices quietly discussing his state, the smell of their bedroom so familiar it blends into nothing.

It's enough to nearly drive him mad. He already feels not entirely present, almost as if he's in a dream: floating blindly in space, tired and wanting.

"I know it looks cruel," a second voice — one he knows as Byleth, as his lover, as his mistress — replies calmly to the first, "Tied up, gagged and blindfolded. But I promise, he _wants_ this."

There's a pause; footsteps growing closer. Then — oh, oh, blissfully, the caress of a soft hand against his skin, cradling his cheek, and the touch feels so _good_ that he can't help but turn his head and press into it, _whimpering_.

"You want this, don't you, Hubert?" Byleth coos to him softly, and his dazed brain stands at attention immediately, desperate to please. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Hubert imagines himself to look rather pathetic, rendered incapable of any speech but base sounds, like an animal. Drooling around the gag forcing his mouth open, growing erect from the barest touch. But in this moment, he doesn't care. He merely whines, nods his head vigorously.

After all, he'd been responsible for half of this idea. The restraints had been his suggestion.

"I suppose with a reaction like that, I have no choice but to take you at your word," the first voice chuckles.

Byleth, on the other hand, had come up with the idea of involving someone else. Of inviting another to their quarters to witness him laid out like this, desperate and wanting, painfully vulnerable.

It'd taken some time for Hubert to warm up to the concept, and to... her suggested _individual_. But he'd come to regard the suggestion as brilliance in the days since their initial discussion.

After all, Lorenz is intimidated enough by him on a good day that he'd never tell another soul of this. And the way he'd always looked at both of them in passing, something like want and envy in his eyes... well.

Lorenz has always been nothing if not an open book, when it comes to his feelings.

"Here," Byleth invites, her hand slipping away. He shudders with the loss, makes another desperate sound. "Come touch him."

A silence greets her words. Neither words nor footsteps of approach, a palpable hesitation.

"He wants it," Byleth insists. "Don't you, Hubert? You want Lorenz to touch you."

Hubert whimpers, cants his head in the vague direction of where he'd heard Lorenz's voice last.

Finally, the sound of footfalls on carpet, drawing near. A hand slides onto his exposed belly, tentative yet curious, feeling how his flesh yields easily to touch.

Lorenz's hands are slender, soft. He can tell them apart from Byleth's from the lack of sword calluses, as well as the fact that his fingers are longer. But when a second hand joins the first — then a third, and a fourth — he starts to lose track of what touch belongs to whom, melting into a cauldron of sensation.

Someone's hand is in his hair, stroking it tenderly. Someone is tracing their fingernails down his pale throat, leaving goosebumps and shivers in their wake. Someone is pinching him on his side, pulling another whimper from his mouth, the sound strangled by the gag.

Now someone has his cock in hand, squeezing it appraisingly. The sudden attention to his neglected member has it twitching, dripping, needy. In a matter of moments, Hubert has gone from dazed to wound up, desperate to please his two masters, an instrument for their desires.

"I never would have thought," Lorenz's voice pierces the haze of touch, and sounds almost thoughtful. Like he's commenting on a flavor of tea. "That our ruthless spymaster could look like this. So... _desperate_."

A hot spike of humiliation runs him through. Perhaps it's Lorenz manhandling him, milking his cock from base to tip. Commenting on his state almost like he's _bored_.

 _Truly,_ Hubert thinks, _I've become utterly depraved._

After all, it isn't normal to find that so arousing, is it? For the humiliation to _thrill_ him. He wants this interloper to witness his desperation, his need. To shame him for it, utterly, and then give him more.

Hubert muffles a plea into the gag, rocking his hips up greedily, earning a noise of surprise as the strokes stutter. So it is Lorenz who has him in hand, after all.

"You're being so good, aren't you, Hubert?" His mistress's voice filters in from somewhere above him. "You like being desperate, don't you? Do you want Lorenz to watch you come?"

Goddess, she knows exactly how to stoke the fire. He _pulses_ in Lorenz's fist, edging closer, teetering on orgasm. He moans as loudly as he can, to make his answer clear to the both of them.

There's a hand groping his chest, pinching his nipple. Another caressing his inner thigh. And throughout it all, Lorenz strokes him, squeezing his erection until —

Until Hubert's obscenities are muffled into the gag, shuddering, stiffening on the mattress. He can feel the hot spill of his come, his muscles tensing and releasing, his mind blanking out. It's made all the more intense from the sensory deprivation, every touch and twitch magnified tenfold.

Someone's hand is in his hair again. Someone is squeezing his testicles. Someone is rubbing their thumb over his cockhead, stimulating him at that sensitive, flushed point throughout his orgasm, until he's reduced to nothing but high-pitched, pleading sounds.

And then the sensation ceases. All of the hands draw away at once, and he is left alone again in the darkness, panting harshly, focusing only on his aching, softening cock and the rapidly cooling spend on his abdomen.

It's so quiet, suddenly. So dark.

Someone is whimpering. It must be him, because it's eventually answered by a hand stroking his cheek, a thumb brushing hair away from his sweaty forehead. A hand with familiar calluses.

"There," Byleth soothes. "Good boy, Hubert."

The touch draws away from his face. Instead, he can feel her working to untie his arms for a moment, extending each of them to check their circulation. The stretch of his sore limbs, manipulated by warm fingers on his cool skin, is nearly euphoric.

"I must concur," Lorenz chuckles, sounding more breathy than the last time he'd heard him. "And yet, I wonder what we should do with him next."

"Hmm." Byleth makes a sound of agreement, manipulating his arms above his head this time, the silk rope circling around his wrists. "The night is still young."

Hubert moans, tired yet eager.


	2. Dedue/Sylvain, lingerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: lingerie. Dedue and Sylvain have some fun, featuring Sylvain's insecurities.

"So, what do you think? Not too shabby, right?"

Sylvain's voice is as nonchalant as ever — trying to play off his anxieties with a calm, joking attitude. But Dedue had long ago learned to look for the subtle tells. The way his gaze lingers on the mattress, avoiding eye contact. The tremble of his right hand where it lays on his thigh.

He's nervous. Afraid of rejection. And Dedue can somewhat understand that — after all, most men don't wear lingerie for their partners.

But the white lace camisole looks exquisite against his tanned skin, as do the matching panties, not to mention the thigh-high stockings clipped to his garter belt. As he's admiring the way the garment clings to Sylvain's midsection, it occurs to him that this was probably _custom made_. Tailored to Sylvain's body, for his private use.

Tailored for Dedue to admire. For his pleasure.

They'd never discussed this, but the intention is clear. It's a surprise Sylvain had cooked up for him — and a gift, of sorts.

He is flattered — no, honored. A heat rises on his cheekbones.

"It looks..." Dedue falters, his teal eyes lingering on his partner's chest. How can he possibly articulate what he's feeling in words alone? "You look incredible."

Sylvain's face melts into a bright grin, and Dedue's heart warms from the sight of it. It's not the cocky grin he wears in public, but something more genuine, more vulnerable. Dedue knows that he's one of the rare few to be on the receiving end of it.

"What're you waiting for, then, huh?" Sylvain sits heavily back on the mattress, brings his knees up so that his legs are spread, exposing the bulge pressing against the front of his lace underwear. "Come and get me, handsome."

Dedue doesn't hesitate, approaching the bed, stripping off his scarf and pulling his shirt over his head as he goes. By the time he climbs onto the mattress to straddle Sylvain, he's wearing nothing but a pair of unbuttoned pants, placing his hand between his lover's legs to give him an appreciative squeeze.

Sylvain moans for him, pushed onto his back by the position, wrapping his legs around Dedue's midsection. He looks good like this, messy red hair framing his face, flushed and freckled.

"You are beautiful," Dedue reminds him, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw, then his adam's apple. He continues to squeeze his crotch, the bulge growing and twitching responsively against his palm, a barrier of white lace separating them. "More beautiful than anything in my garden."

"Aw," Sylvain chuckles, his voice growing huskier. His hands tug ineffectively at Dedue's pants, trying to get them off. "Got another surprise for you, too."

"Hmm." Dedue draws back for a moment, straightening up to maneuver his pants off. His cock is already visibly hard, straining against his smallclothes, and it doesn't escape his notice that Sylvain licks his lips at the sight of it. "Could it have something to do with the bottle of lubrication beside you?"

"Always so smart," Sylvain groans, arching a little like he's trying to get more stimulation in the absence of Dedue's hand. "Hurry up already, then."

Without another moment's hesitation, he draws down his smallclothes, revealing his flushed cock, swollen to full hardness. Then he hooks his thumbs around the waistband of Sylvain's panties, drawing them down until his own erection can spring free, already eagerly leaking from the tip.

And there, between his legs, is the 'surprise' — a slick plug spreading his hole, keeping him ready to be fucked. It provokes a whimper when Dedue tugs it out, his entrance twitching and squeezing around the sudden emptiness.

"I can see why you are acting so desperate," Dedue comments, as calm as if he were discussing the weather, pulling Sylvain's underwear down his legs until the garment is entirely off, giving him free use of his legs again.

"Yeah, because I want you to _put it in_ already," Sylvain grins, wiggling his ass as if to make himself more tantalizing.

"Patience, or you will get hurt."

"Maybe I don't wanna be patient. Maybe I want you to hurt me."

Dedue calmly ignores him, though the corners of his lips quirk, merely reaching past him to grab the bottle of lubrication so that he can drip some onto his palm, taking himself in hand.

It isn't until he thoroughly coats himself that he finally places the bottle to the side, wiping his hand on the sheets. Then he slides into place above Sylvain once more, feeling his legs once again wrapping around him, the lace scratching against his back.

"Relax," Dedue soothes, leaning in to kiss the edge of his lips, staring into his eyes as the head of his cock lines up with his entrance.

It's always the eye contact that does it. Sylvain looks almost like he's in a trance, lips parted, cheeks flushed. His expression goes from cocky and eager to needy and exposed, putting himself — all of himself — in Dedue's hands.

A whimper escapes Sylvain as Dedue breaches him, pushes the head in past the rim. The resistance is hardly there with the plug he's been wearing, but Dedue is slightly thicker than the average man, and the stretch is as slow as it is perfect, inching in until he has no more to give.

It's then that Dedue notices Sylvain's eyes are prickled with tears, hardly noticeable but for the glossiness of them.

"Good?" Dedue asks, a note of concern leaking into his voice, gently nuzzling Sylvain's face with his own, refusing to move until his concerns are allayed.

"Good," Sylvain chokes out in reply, and one of the tears slips free, rolling down his flushed cheek. "Sorry, it's just, you're just — _perfect_ , and —"

 _And I don't deserve you,_ Dedue can easily complete the thought. It's one he's heard before, on numerous occasions.

"And you deserve this," Dedue counters, earning a gasp when he gently rocks his hips. Pulling out just enough so that Sylvain can feel the upward weight of his thrust back in, seeking his prostate. "You did all of this for me. Do you not deserve a reward?"

Sylvain's breath catches, stutters, punched out of his lungs by the weight of the next thrust. "Y—eah, but—"

"And you feel wonderful," Dedue continues, cutting off his doubts with ceaseless praise, as merciless as the steady rhythm he's quickly establishing with his thrusts. "So — tight. So perfect for me, Sylvain."

"Mm—"

Dedue's hot breath mingles with his as he angles their faces to make eye contact again, both of their mouths hanging open as Dedue's cock spreads him wide once again, massaging against his insides. "You are perfect, Sylvain. Just as you are."

He finds Sylvain's prostate, the slick head of his member stroking against it just right, forcing a moan from his lips. Sylvain's cock is bobbing with every thrust, flushed and arched back against his belly, leaking precum freely.

"Not just — ah — your appearance," Dedue continues, huffing out a breath, not from exertion but from Sylvain's body clenching tightly around him. "But — every part of you. Your personality. Your mind. You are perfect, Sylvain."

"Dedue," Sylvain whimpers, almost like a warning, eyes half-lidded but not breaking eye contact.

"And that," Dedue breathes, strands of white hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his hands clutching Sylvain's hips, "is why I love you."

"D— Dedue—" Sylvain shuts his eyes, another tear rolling down his cheek, and then another. He arches off the mattress, angles himself so that Dedue's cock slams into him with perfect precision, again and again until — until he spills untouched on his belly, shuddering, white spend staining white lace.

Dedue isn't far behind as Sylvain's body squeezes around his shaft, rocking forward with a few stuttering thrusts before seating himself fully inside, groaning deeply. He feels the orgasm ripple outward from his core, his lower body clenching and spasming as he empties at the deepest point he can, cock twitching with each pulse of cum.

There's something primal about the act, but also very tender; as he comes down he becomes aware of the stillness, the silence, broken only by their respective panting breaths. He becomes aware of the lace stockings pressed against him, of Sylvain's arms around him, one hand clutching at his back and the other buried in his hair.

And he is aware of how wonderful Sylvain looks, whimpering with sensitivity, eyelashes wet. Of how the white lace emphasizes the flush on his skin, the heat trapped underneath. Of how warm he still is, tight and wet around his softening cock.

Dedue is seized with the sudden need to kiss him, pressing their lips together gently. Then again, and again, peppering soft kisses over his mouth, an act of worship.

"Are you alright?" He whispers.

"Yeah," Sylvain manages, then laughs, breathless. "Geez, you really... know how to take a guy apart, don't you."

"Is that bad?"

"I was hoping to be the one taking you apart this time," Sylvain grins, squinting his eyes open at him. There's that familiar glow to his smile, tired but present, and Dedue relaxes. "That's why I got this stuff... wanted to blow your mind."

"You did," Dedue reassures him with a smile, pressing another kiss to the corner of his lips, tracing his fingers across the light smattering of chest hair visible under the lace. "You did, Sylvain."


	3. Raphael/Lorenz, exhibitionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael and Lorenz enjoy some time in the sauna, and don't particularly mind if they get caught doing so.
> 
> Prompt is 'exhibitionism'. If you're uncomfortable with the kink, don't worry, it's mild: I'll provide a description below.
> 
>  **SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER**  
>  They have sex in a public place with no one around. No one sees them during the actual act. Someone walks in after the sex is over but while they are still naked.  
>  **SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER**

It was Raphael's idea to have sex in the sauna.

And what a wicked, delightful idea it is.

"Oh, Raphael," Lorenz whines, a half-hearted complaint. After all, Raphael already has his cock all the way inside, and Lorenz swears he can feel it pushing against the front of his belly with how _big_ he is. "Someone c— could come in. They — _ahh_ — they could _see_ us."

Heat stains his cheeks further at the thought of it. Practically anyone in their army could walk in right now and witness him bent over, braced against the wooden steps of the sauna, their bodies joined in the most intimate way. Witness a commoner man _taking_ him, out of _wedlock_ no less, defiling his body in a most un-noble fashion.

It shouldn't thrill him. It shouldn't make him moan and jut his hips back, struggling to get Raphael in deeper, as if he isn't already fully sheathed in the tight heat of him. He _wants_ to be seen.

Of course, it's unlikely that he will be. They purposely chose a time of night where the sauna would be empty, after all.

But it's about the possibility.

"Let 'em see," Raphael rumbles from behind, pressing kisses to his pale shoulders, flushed and damp from the moisture in the air. "I want 'em to see how pretty you are. And how you're mine."

There's a brief tease of teeth, then a hickey lovingly sucked and kissed into the back of his neck. Lorenz _gasps_.

Mine. _Mine._ The word echoes in his head, and he whimpers as Raphael starts to piston his hips, fucking into him in short, fast movements that never leave him empty. It's so _deep_ , and Raphael already knows it's exactly what he wants.

"Someone c— could," Lorenz shudders, feeling like he's teetering on the edge of losing his mind. He's harder than he's ever been in his life, cock heavy and swaying between his legs, leaking precome with every thrust. When did he turn into such a deviant? "Could tell my father. Clau— Claude, could, could see, he would — never let me hear the end of —"

"Good," Raphael breathes, and Lorenz _shivers_. Is he imagining the darker edge to Raphael's voice? Is it sincere, or him leaning into the fantasy? "I want everybody to know."

"Mm," Lorenz whines, leaning forward, his head resting on his arms, purple hair sticking to his face.

There's little else he can do but take it, legs spread, Raphael holding him in place with those perfectly large hands of his, slamming into his prostate. And little else he _wants_ to do.

Truly, the Goddess must have sculpted Raphael by hand. He is perfect in every respect.

"And — what would you do? Raphael?" Lorenz moans out the words, his voice weak and high pitched, breathy. "What would — you do, if I— if they shamed me, stripped me of — _ahn_ — my nobility?"

Raphael stops, just for a moment, his hips hesitating. Lorenz immediately regrets opening his stupid mouth.

But then he leans forward, draping himself over Lorenz so that his muscular chest is flush to his back, wrapping his arms around his middle. It's a more animalistic position, and it forces his cock in _deep_ , as well as keeping Lorenz held tightly by Raphael's grip, trapped and beholden entirely to his desires.

 _Oh_ — would his dear, gentle Raphael physically overpower him one night, if he asked for it? Would he throw him down onto the mattress and have his way with him, no matter how many fake complaints he voiced? The thought is nearly too much to take. Lorenz feels his erection _throb_.

"If they made you not a noble," Raphael murmurs into his ear, his voice husky and kind, "then I'd just marry you. I'd take you somewhere nice in the Alliance and — we'd get married, Lorenz, and have a cottage, and chickens, and cows, and I'd fuck you just like this, every morning."

Lorenz _whines_ , a happy, pathetic sound. Oh, he makes it sound like heaven, somehow. A filthy little commoner shack surrounded by livestock, yet more wonderful and more precious than the finest jewels Gloucester money could ever buy.

He feels Raphael's grin pressed against his neck as his thrusts start back up, rocking into him, firm and steady. It isn't long before Lorenz is panting again, gasping, the heat in his abdomen winding up as his toes curl and stutter against the wood grain.

Then Raphael's hand curls around him, squeezing him from base to tip, and that's all he needs — he spills on the sauna steps, shuddering, yelling out his pleasure as he clenches on Raphael's thick cock.

If anyone happens to be in the sauna and hadn't yet noticed them, well — that won't last long, now.

Behind him, Raphael's thrusts quicken, getting more uneven in rhythm. He can feel as much as hear Raphael grunting with exertion, his muscles rippling where they press into Lorenz's spine and shoulderblades, again and again until —

"Fuck," Raphael breathes out, letting out a long, aching groan, and Lorenz can feel him _twitch_ inside as he spills, releasing as deep inside as he can.

He doesn't draw out until he's fully spent, and Lorenz whimpers at the loss, even as his thighs ache from how wide they've been spread. His hole feels tender, fluttering and squeezing around the empty space where Raphael had been, and he's sure it won't be long before his ample spend starts to trickle out.

Yet another notch on his list of filthy, unbecoming behaviors for a nobleman. It's terribly arousing, knowing that his lover came inside.

Raphael draws away, then helps flip Lorenz over onto his back with his hands, guiding him into a sitting position on the wooden steps. Then he leans forward until their foreheads touch, both of them panting from the mixture of their body heat and the sauna combined.

It takes a moment for Lorenz's mind to clear, to become capable of coherent thought once more. And though the gravity of the situation is sinking in, he can't yet seem to find it in himself to mind.

"I still can't believe we did such a thing," Lorenz says, smiling despite himself, threading his fingers into Raphael's soft golden curls. "In a public place. We should be ashamed of ourselves, Raphael."

"I don't feel very ashamed," Raphael grins in return, all straight, perfect teeth. And it's true — there's not an ounce of regret in his expression. After all, no one had caught them in the act.

"I suppose I don't either," Lorenz murmurs. "You are a terrible influence."

And despite his words, he can't help himself, leaning in to kiss Raphael's smile as if it's magnetic.

"Oh!"

The soft, feminine voice startles both of them, and they quickly turn to look at the source — finding none other than dear Marianne standing there, wearing the usual sand-colored sauna underclothes, her cheeks bright red in contrast to the delicate blue of her curly hair.

"I'll, um— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to — I'll just—"

"Marianne!" Lorenz calls after her, but it's much too late, watching her scamper out of the sauna. He sighs heavily, holding his face in his hands. "Oh, poor, sweet Marianne..."

"Well," Raphael chuckles sheepishly, "that's one person who knows about us, huh?"

"I shall have to explain things to her later," Lorenz grumbles, his cheeks hot from embarrassment. "But I suppose there are worse individuals to know."

"Yeah! Marianne's nice!" As always, Raphael is a ray of sunshine, leaning in to nuzzle their faces together. "She's not gonna tell anybody! Maybe we could even go on a double date!"

Lorenz balks slightly at the suggestion — after all, Marianne is seeing Hilda, perhaps the biggest gossip in their entire army. But he can't help but smile regardless, finding Raphael's hand to hold it in his own.

"Perhaps tea with the three of us will do, to start."


	4. Hubert/Byleth, somnophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: (consensual) somnophilia. Byleth has an idea for her husband to explore. Hubert discovers a new kink, but not the one you'd expect.

Byleth always comes up with such interesting and bizarre ideas for them to try in the bedroom. Hubert wonders if she has some sort of fetish dictionary, somewhere, that she is pulling entries from at random.

Her newest proposition: for him to have sex with her while she slumbers.

The only problem, of course, is that Byleth has never been a particularly heavy sleeper, as mercenaries rarely are. Much like Hubert, with his duties as Lady Edelgard's vassal, she'd been conditioned to wake up at the drop of a hat, knife ready in hand to address an impending threat.

A sleeping draught, then, is decided upon. He doesn't even need to trouble the Imperial chemists with it: after all, he knows quite intimately which herbs will bring sleep, which will wrench the truth from someone's lips, and which will bring death.

He wouldn't trust anyone else to handle a potion for his wife, anyway.

Hubert brews it himself that afternoon, to ensure its potency. He adds enough dreamweed to ensure a normal, if slightly longer, duration of sleep; a pinch of surflower, an herb known for inducing pleasant, if not oddly vivid, dreams. He finds himself hoping that though she sleeps, she will still feel the sensations, and perhaps dream of him.

"Remember," Byleth reminds him that evening, as they retire to the bedroom, "you can do whatever you want. I won't be awake to know."

"You've said so multiple times," Hubert teases in reply, stripping off his dayclothes until he's topless, left only in a pair of black dress pants. "Is there some secret fantasy you imagine I'll indulge only if you're not awake to see it?"

"I kind of like the idea," Byleth smiles coquettishly, uncapping the small sleeping potion he'd prepared for her, taking a moment to sniff its contents.

"I apologize, my love," Hubert sits on the mattress beside her, starting to unbutton her clothes, "but I don't believe I have any hidden desires you haven't already unearthed."

"Hmm," Byleth sighs, tipping her head back as she begins to drink, swallowing the glass bottle's entire contents in short order. When she brings her head back down, it's with an expression of pleasant surprise. "Oh! It tastes like grape!"

"I added some flavoring for you," Hubert chuckles. "To make it more pleasant."

After placing the emptied bottle on their bedside, she helpfully raises her arms so that Hubert may pull her shirt all the way off, revealing the black lace underneath. His favorite bra of hers — truly, she'd been endeavoring to spoil him this evening.

"Who knew the Minister of the Imperial Household had such a tender side," Byleth murmurs, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Flavoring his deadly little potions— whoa."

Instinctively he reaches out to steady her as she sways, hands on her waist, but Byleth gradually leans back until she's flat on the mattress with her head against the pillows, as if pulled down by some stronger gravity. She _giggles_ in the way she does when intoxicated, eyes already half-lidded.

"Wow. You should make this stuff more often."

"For as quickly as it takes action, I fear it has some side effects." Hubert can't help the smile that curls his lips, regardless. Rare is it that he's complimented on the effects of his potions — after all, most who imbibe them don't survive long enough to sing the praises of their efficacy. "You may feel groggy in the morning."

"Tomorrow's a Saturday," she points out, grinning drowsily.

Byleth reaches out, and the effect on her hand-eye coordination is already quite visible — she misses him by a good 5 inches, and fumbles around until she manages to grab his hair, pulling him down towards her. Hubert easily obliges, closing the gap and kissing her delicately on the lips, as if to say goodnight.

"Have fun, okay?" Byleth mumbles against his lips, looking as if she can barely keep her eyes open.

"I'm sure I will find a way to enjoy myself," he promises in return, gently brushing strands of teal hair away from her forehead.

She chuckles sleepily as her eyelids finally slide shut, and in less than a minute, he hears her breathing catch — then deepen, becoming slow, shallow, rhythmic. She doesn't stir when he draws away, nor when he removes her boots, or her stockings, or her shorts.

_Remember, you can do whatever you want._

A little thrill of excitement runs through him as the reality of the situation sets in.

Hubert has never been a man tempted to act upon another without their consent, of course. Rarely had sexual desires ever plagued him to begin with, just another emotion suppressed in the name of furthering Her Majesty's wishes — at least, until Byleth had come along and upended that.

But there is something oddly titillating about the way that, when he lifts Byleth's arm, she does not react at all. It merely falls down limp when he lets it go, like a particularly realistic doll.

Nor does she stir when he grabs her breast, curious and hesitant, as if it were his first time doing so. He recalls the first time he touched Byleth this way, the way his hand _trembled_ , even though they were two adults on their wedding night.

Before long, Hubert's mind is alight with a million little fantasies. What if he'd touched her before that? What if, as her student, he'd dared to steal a kiss from her, acted upon the unspoken tension between them? If he had squeezed those ample breasts that drove his fellow students wild? Would she have wanted it? Would she have refused him?

What if he hadn't cared for her refusal either way, had stolen into her bedroom and touched her in her slumber? He'd done so once, sans the touching, to evaluate how easy it would be to kill her, should she pose a threat to Lady Edelgard. And how beautiful she'd looked then — Hubert had been briefly captivated by it, despite himself.

She hardly looks different now, considering that her hair has returned to its prior color. It would be easy to imagine it.

Suddenly, he wants very much to see her bare, and he reaches behind her, undoing the clasp of her bra. It's mildly inconvenient to work the straps off of her arms without her awake to help, but he manages to maneuver the garment off.

With a little hesitation, as if still worried she might wake up — _why, she said she wanted this, it's not as if you're doing anything untoward_ — Hubert leans down, taking one of her soft, pale breasts in hand. Kissing it, then _worshipping_ it, sucking little hickeys into her skin, lathing his tongue across her nipple.

"Mm."

Hubert freezes, looking up, thinking for a moment he's been caught. But Byleth must have simply been making a sound in her sleep — her mouth is hanging open slightly, her breathing still deep and even.

Swallowing hard, he allows himself to squeeze her a little more roughly, taking both of her breasts in his hands. He'd never allow herself to touch her like this, were she awake: he wouldn't want to hurt her, after all. But the flesh is so soft, so yielding, and the way his dark, scarred hands look as they grab unyielding handfuls of perfect pink, well — it's almost like he's soiling her, tainting her.

His cock is already pressing needily against the front of his smallclothes, nearing full hardness without any stimulation. How embarrassing. If he's fantasizing about their school days, he's certainly acting the part of an overexcitable schoolboy.

With a bit of struggle from his impatience, Hubert gets his pants unbuttoned and drawn off, and the garment underneath soon follows. He grips himself, sliding a hand along the curve of his cock, feeling the gathered moisture at the tip.

And yet she still slumbers, unaware of his intentions, his actions. She does not stir even when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. Nor does she stir when he does the same for her lace panties, inching them off her hips delicately as if they were spun glass.

She doesn't even react when his fingers slide between the lips of her pussy, only to find she's already surprisingly wet.

"How filthy, Professor," he chuckles, and the word feels surprisingly natural on his tongue, the epithet they'd all known her by for years. He leans in to place his face between her breasts, to kiss and suck more hickeys into her flesh. "You must have been fantasizing about this, then, before you fell asleep."

Byleth still doesn't answer, not really, except for the slightest moan when his slick fingers press over her clitoris. The brief noise of her pleasure, even through her slumber, is enough to send a heady pulse of arousal to his straining erection.

Hubert can't help himself — he rolls his hips, grinding himself against the muscled skin of her thigh, desperate for stimulation. It must be a rather embarrassing sight, humping her leg, gripping and squeezing and mouthing her breasts. Her desperate student, acting on his most shameful desires.

His hand trembles as he grips her thigh, pulling her legs open, exposing more of her. Her sex glistens, flushed, inviting. He props himself over her, arms on either side of her, tucking his face into her neck for lack of a better place to put it, to hide himself.

And without mercy, he takes her, plunging his needy cock into her tight hole, unable to help the moan that escapes him as her wetness envelops him.

He's surprised to feel her clench around him just slightly — it's weak, like an involuntary bodily response, dampened by sleep paralysis. But then she loosens again, and he doesn't waste any time in starting to fuck her, keeping her spread open on him, his hips pistoning up in tight little thrusts meant for his own selfish pleasure.

Hubert makes a sound like a whimper. Why does it feel so good? It's not as if he doesn't make love to his wife most nights. What is this thrill?

He's abruptly hit with a memory — a class demonstration in the training grounds, years ago. How eager he'd been to humiliate her in front of their class, only for Byleth to instead disarm him easily, casting him to the ground, pinning him beneath her. He remembers the hot flush of embarrassment on his cheeks, his grit teeth. The weight of her body on top of his. How he hadn't truly appreciated how muscular she was until his hands were holding him in place, unyielding.

The heat of his swelling groin, betraying his arousal.

He'd thought about that moment for _months_ after the fact. Had pleasured himself to completion over it more than once, despite his frustrations.

"Professor," he chokes out, his thrusts becoming quicker, choppier. The room fills with profane, wet noises as he fucks into her unmoving body, panting harshly against her neck. How would she have reacted if he'd asked her for a private rematch? If he'd been the one to disarm her, pin her to the ground? If he'd touched her then, taken what he wanted...

No — he was entirely too weak, physically, to pin her on his own. She would have flipped him over instantly, taken control again.

But — if she'd wanted it, too? Would she have undressed him, taken him inside of her, right then and there on the training ground? A model student and cherished professor, desperately rutting where just about anyone could walk in to see them...

He wonders if Byleth would have let him come, pinned there on the floor. Or if she would've punished him for his insolence by using him as a glorified sex toy, then leaving him unsatisfied. Perhaps she would have tied him up, or taken him back to her room, or even the classroom, spread him over a desk, and —

"Professor," Hubert moans again, but this time it's throaty, drawn out. He holds himself inside as he spills into her, shuddering with the waves of his orgasm, long and intense. He can feel himself coming more than usual, balls drawn up tight as he empties inside of her tight body, and it's enough to leave his legs shaking.

And then it's over, suddenly. Nothing but the sound of his harsh breathing, muffled against her skin, and the feeling of sweat cooling on his back. Byleth, unmoving underneath him, his cock softening inside her.

There is no embarrassment, strangely enough, even though he'd expected to feel such. Just a tingling feeling of warmth and contentment. Like he'd been wrung out, and then wrapped in a warm blanket.

He takes a few minutes to gather himself before he finally detaches from his sleeping lover, getting up out of bed. He has to brace himself on the mattress, he finds, as his knees threaten to wobble when his feet touch the ground.

And he allows himself to admire his handiwork for a moment, while his knees steady — Byleth's hair is mussed, a variety of hickeys and bite marks tracing a path from her breasts to her neck. All while she still slumbers, lips slightly parted, unaware of it all. She looks so beautiful, so peaceful, that it's hard to believe anything had happened.

But further south, he can see the milky white of his spend already starting to trickle out of her, betraying his actions.

Hubert blushes deeply, heading to the bathroom to get some towels and a water basin. He should at least clean his wife up before she wakes.

* * *

"Did you have fun?"

Hubert makes a sound of acknowledgment, trying his best to hide his expression behind the coffee cup.

"I'd hope you did," Byleth grins, her fork digging into the plate of eggs in front of her. "I mean, since I felt something leaking out of me when I went to use the bathroom—"

" _Byleth,_ " Hubert interrupts, feeling his entire face going scarlet.

"So you _did_ have fun."

"In a manner of speaking," he grumbles, taking a bite of his own food, "yes, I did. Thank you."

Byleth smiles sunnily at him, as if she hadn't just been discussing his seed inside of her over breakfast.

"You'll have to tell me all about it later," she hums.

"I'm sure you'll want a six-page report."

Byleth grins. "At _least_ three pages."

Hubert rolls his eyes, even as he finds a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, taking another sip of his morning coffee.

"And how did you sleep, with the draught?" He asks.

"Wonderful," Byleth sighs. "Like a baby. Maybe we can make a routine of this."

"Perhaps."

So her dreams hadn't reflected reality, then, or she would have likely mentioned it. A bit disappointing, but not unexpected.

A silence passes between them, filled only by the sounds of sipping beverages and clinking forks against plates.

Hubert's fork stutters as a memory of last night comes to him unbidden: of moaning her title against her skin, fantasizing about her being his teacher. He can't help wondering — if she would indulge such a fantasy, now that she's awake.

He feels heat rising on his cheeks, tipping his head down to hide it with his hair.

"Byleth."

"Hmm?" She makes a questioning sound through a mouthful of food, looking at him obliviously.

"Do you know where my Garreg Mach uniform is?"

Her brow furrows in confusion as she chews and swallows. "Probably in a box in the storage room. Why?"

Hubert takes a deep breath, peeking at her through his bangs in a way that's almost _shy_. He can see the surprise on her face at his uncharacteristically bashful manner.

"Well..."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought in the comments below! I'm shy when it comes to replying but I read every comment!


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